


Inquisitor Lavellan and the No Good, Very Bad Day

by Lalaen



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM Scene, Big Sister Sera (Dragon Age), Canon Compliant, Dom The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Dom/sub, Dorian Pavus Has Issues, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Injury Recovery, M/M, Obedience, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Permanent Injury, Polyamorous Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Porn With Plot, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Relationship Negotiation, Religious Conflict, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sera Being Sera (Dragon Age), Spanking, Subspace, Trespasser gave me feelings, how do Dorian and the inquisitor work through anything without Bull, inquisitor can’t control his magic during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24382390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalaen/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: The Iron Bull has made it his mission to get the inquisitor through the Exalted Council in one piece. He has no idea how impossible that will be, and all Dorian does is make it harder.(Couldn’t help but write everyone’s feelings through Trespasser, because... it’s a lot)
Relationships: Iron Bull/Male Lavellan, Iron Bull/Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 67





	Inquisitor Lavellan and the No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a one-scene thing, practicing writing Bull while I was playing Trespasser. Now it is this. Oops.

It was in the corner of the gardens, all alone, that The Iron Bull finally found the inquisitor. He was leaning against the railing in a way that the Qunari didn’t believe for a moment to be casual. He had been Ben-Hassrath, after all. That, and Gethrael was a terrible liar. 

“Hey, boss,” Bull leaned next to him, and watched out of the corner of his eye as Geth turned his face away - not subtly at all, no matter what he thought - and wiped the corner of his eye with his thumb. “You okay?” There was no point in pretending. Not with no one else around but the two of them. 

There was a long pause. “If I say yes,” the elf said finally, unable to keep his voice steady. “Will you drop it?” He sounded profoundly tired, and that more than anything made Bull ache for him. 

“Nah. Don’t think so.”

The silence stretched longer this time, and Iron Bull let it. He knew the delicacy of this situation, what was at stake today, and he’d seen Gethrael’s valiant attempts to hold himself together often enough to know when he should push and when he shouldn’t. Admittedly, he wasn’t so sure that the inquisitor would be successful this time. He watched Geth put his face in his hands, rubbing either side of the bridge of his nose. He saw the sheen of a tear track for just a moment before it was wiped away. He lifted a hand to gently pat the elf’s head, realized this wasn’t the time to risk mussing his hair, and rested his palm against the nape of his neck instead. He felt fragile in Bull’s huge hand; in more than just the usual physical sense. The Qunari stroked his thumb on the sensitive part of his neck where the tiny wisps of white hair didn’t stay up in their braids. 

“I just wish he’d told me himself,” Gethrael said finally, and though his voice wasn’t trembling it was very tight. “He could have, you know. There was plenty of time to... to pull me aside.” Bull could feel his hurt pride like a physical presence, and he couldn’t be blamed for that. He’d always been so conscious of his emotional strength, and for good reason. The scrutiny he’d been under would give even the most capable person a complex. 

“If he can run from something, he will,” Bull said heavily. “Even he knows that.” He felt a tiny tremor run through Gethrael’s body, and resisted the urge to just drag him into his arms and hold him. 

“I- I know,” the elf’s hands dropped to the banister and he gripped it until his knuckles were pale. “I just hoped... Maker, I don’t know what I hoped.”

“It’s alright, kadan,” Bull said, as tenderly as his gravelly voice would allow. “You can feel that way.”

Suddenly, the inquisitor spun to look at him, so quickly it was almost as though he was on a mechanical pivot. His eyes were wet, glistening with tears that threatened to overflow. “These past weeks, I’ve... I looked forwards to seeing him again so I didn’t dread what would happen today. I missed him and I-“ his voice broke and he closed his mouth. Bull watched as shame crept over his face and gave a heavy sigh. 

He pulled Gethrael into his chest, feeling his weak resistance and not giving him a choice in the matter. “You needed a sure thing. We all do.” Two gloved hands planted against him, holding the elf short of resting his head against Bull’s chest, and when Geth looked up at him his expression was flatly pleading. 

“Please, Bull,” it sounded like the last of his resolve. This was someone who had popped back up again and again, cheerfully and against ludicrous odds, and it was only deep in the daze of submission that the Qunari had heard his voice worn so thin. “Don’t touch me right now.” 

Or I’ll break, was the implication that hung between them. 

Iron Bull let him go, almost surprised at how difficult it was. “I understand,” he said, but as Gethrael moved to hide his face again, he caught his chin with a finger and guided him to look up. He needed to see there was at least one person that didn’t see his tears as weakness. “If you need a few minutes, I’ll figure it out for you. I can make people wait. Just say the word.”

“No,” the inquisitor shook his head immediately. “If I step away from this I won’t be able to do it. I just need to... persevere.” He took a deep breath and tried to force his usual easy smile. It was shaky and didn’t reach his eyes, and made Bull feel like there was a hole in his chest. He was going to try and make a light comment about how Gethrael could do anything, but before he could he saw the elf’s body tighten with pain, his left hand becoming a claw as that sickly green fade glow flared up around it. Geth went to grab his own wrist, a reflex to stop the pain. 

“Hey,” Bull took the hand in his before he could get there. It was delicate and small cradled in his fingers, and he pressed his thumb against the mark and squeezed; applying firm, even pressure. Almost immediately Gethrael started breathing more normally, though Bull watched him with a critical eye. This thing was getting much worse, and he’d seen Dorian look worried over it too. That was what made him really nervous. 

Maybe it had good timing, though. Pain was a very effective distraction, and not in a way Bull could provide without a night alone with the inquisitor. He waited, gauging the elf’s expression and not letting go of his hand. Once the pain started to ease, he turned his touch to a caress and stayed silent until Geth looked up at him. He still looked shaky, but his eyes were no longer brimming. 

“If you want it, I’ll help you clear your mind tonight,” Bull said, giving him his hand back. “If you need to spend time with him, I understand - but I think it’s best to let the wound heal for a minute, or there’s just going to be more hurt.”

Gethrael gave a small nod, then a firmer one. “... thank you, Bull.”

“Now go find one of our friends and make some small talk. You’ll feel better.”

“If you’re here to call me an asshole,” Dorian said, with such a wildly dramatic gesture that he almost spilled his brandy. He then paused to drink most of it in one go, “you will have to get in line. I’m well aware that I broke our sweet inquisitor’s heart, thank you very much.”

“It’s not that,” Bull grunted. Dorian had such overwhelming frenetic energy when he was emotional, the exact opposite of Gethrael. It was no wonder they struggled to work things out on their own when they were both upset. 

“Really? You’re really here for another reason?” Dorian set the glass down with such a bang he was lucky he didn’t break it. 

“It is about him,” Bull didn’t get any further. 

“Well! That’s just wonderful.” When Dorian reached for the bottle again, glass not even entirely empty, Bull crossed the room in two surprisingly quick strides and took it out of his hand. 

“Cool it with this until I can talk to you. Okay?”

Dorian gave him a look that was downright sulky. “Very well.” The inquisitor would just let him whip himself up until he exhausted himself and went back to being reasonable, and though it was shockingly effective, Bull hated putting up with his crap that long if he could avoid it. He put the bottle down on the table. 

“He’s scared,” Bull said flatly, keeping Dorian locked in his gaze. “When the Inquisition is gone, he doesn’t belong anywhere and we all know it,” Dorian opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it. “He thought he belonged with you.”

“Cassandra told me - well, told doesn’t really express the volume of her shouting - that they talked about marriage this morning,” the mage said, with a resigned sheepishness that at least had him a little calmer. “So I suppose I’m saying that I know, Bull. And he does.”

“Then take him with you.”

“And what about you?” Dorian said, after a pause that was just a beat too long to be a genuine question. He was deflecting. 

“I’ll go where I go, doesn’t matter to me. You know that. Try again.”

“It isn’t safe there!” He hissed, and immediately the water started rising again on his frenzied state. “My father sent me away so I wouldn’t be hurt during his assassination. We... weren’t even on good terms.” He started pacing, unable to stay still. “My what? Husband? Betrothed? Can you imagine what they would do to him to get to me?”

Ah. There was the heart of it. A deep vein of sweetness was buried there under Dorian’s rude demeanour, as usual. No doubt that any grief he felt was channeled directly into this, too. Easier for him to understand than his complicated feelings about his father. “He can handle himself,” Bull said pedantically. “Lot of people have tried to kill him. He’s used to it.”

“He doesn’t _look_ like he can. Certainly not to Tevinter high society.” Dorian said, practically begging Bull to understand. “In fact, most of them would say he looks like a slave.”

“You talked about him visiting Tevinter with you before.”

“Yes; and his status as inquisitor would’ve given him some protection! Attacking him would constitute an act of war that most of Thedas would respond to, and only the Venatori were that insane.” Dorian grimaced, throwing himself dramatically into a chair. “Once the inquisition is disbanded, it’ll just be a feather in the cap of some idiot magister, won’t it?”

“Maybe,” Iron Bull said, sensing that he was launching into a rant and knowing it was better to let him talk. He wasn’t likely to hear any arguments to the contrary now, anyways. 

“Let us count the reasons his life would be in danger, shall we? First and foremost, being the male lover of an equally male magister; especially one such as myself, newly appointed and not yet established among the factions. Let us not forget the prestige of being one of the most important men in the world, of course. Being a Dalish elf does him absolutely no favours either, and,” Dorian stopped a moment to breathe, “he’s far too honest and kind for his own good, you know it’s true. Anyone in the Magisterium will see it in a second - that’s weakness, to them.” He put his fingers to his temples. “I couldn’t even guarantee the protection of my partner were he a human of my caste from Tevinter. Gethrael... absolutely out of the question.” He let his face drop into his hands, and for a moment Bull thought he was done. “If something happened to him because of me...” there was an obvious struggle that accompanied Dorian’s every emotional admission, like he was pulling teeth instead of saying words. “I don’t know that I could live with myself. I really don’t.”

Bull gave him a moment, making sure he didn’t need to continue. When he stayed quiet, the Qunari said, “Sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, quiet and genuine. 

“You need anything?” 

The mage rubbed his hands over his face, then looked up at Bull. He seemed exhausted too, and he had every right. “I’d dearly love to hear that I’m doing the right thing - but I know that’s too much to ask.” 

“Can’t answer that one for you.” Bull said, because he truthfully did not know. Dorian did have a good point, but it was without question that Gethrael would argue tirelessly against his concern. After the things he’d been through, the many attempts on his life; it was equally understandable that he wouldn’t be afraid any more. 

There was another lengthy pause, and Bull caught Dorian gazing longingly at the bottle of brandy. “Will he be alright?” He asked hesitantly, and any idiot could see the answer he needed. 

“He always bounces back,” Bull said, and it was the truth. “Needs to get over the shock. Get this council crap over with, too. It’s weighing heavy on him.” 

“Of course,” Dorian pushed himself out of the chair, though it seemed he’d run out of energy. “If I could delay him finding out, I’d have done it. He has enough on his plate already.”

Iron Bull knew better than to tell him he’d have been further ahead to break the news to the inquisitor this morning, that his silence played a large part in Gethrael being so shaken. What’s done was done, and it was better to keep them both calm so they could say proper goodbyes. “I’ll settle him down tonight when everything is over. You’ll be alright?” He asked because Dorian liked hearing it, knowing he’d be going back to the bottle as soon as nothing more was expected of him this evening. 

“I wouldn’t say no to company,” the mage said, almost wistfully, “but I’d much rather know you were with him.”

Bull gave a single firm nod, then held out an arm. Dorian wasn’t necessarily one much for physical comfort, but the Qunari had a pretty good sense of what people needed; and sure enough Dorian came over and let himself be embraced. He wasn’t as small as Gethrael, but still more than enough for Bull to totally envelop him in his arms. 

“You’ll look after him,” Dorian said, more a statement than a question. 

“Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

The inquisitor looked fine now, having managed to collect the pieces and hold them together through the stress of the council. Would’ve been totally good if he didn’t have to run out in the middle; and now he had the additional stress of everyone talking about that. Not to mention this crazy shit with Qunari warriors and ancient elven mirrors that Iron Bull was happy to take his mind off of, too. Of course every time the world fell apart it landed squarely on the inquisitor’s shoulders, and his alone. It was an unfairness that Bull made it his duty to be constantly aware of, because surely it conveniently slipped out of minds all the time. Varric might be the sole exception; always seeming acutely concerned about Gethrael. Qunari did not have fathers and mothers, but Bull had spent long enough here to know that the dwarf was pretty damn parental. 

Geth, more than anyone, was prone to totally disregarding himself. The day’s final blow; and the one that had Bull really worried, was all that crap they’d seen about the elven Creators. Typically, the inquisitor was hiding any reaction since his initial shock, but that was only more cause for concern. Bull had talked with him enough about his culture and daily life with his clan to understand that the Dalish were deeply religious - and though he definitely understood how it felt to be disillusioned by a religion you’d followed all your life, he didn’t have a tattoo on his face representing the Qun. He knew the only way Gethrael wouldn’t be struggling with this right now was if it hadn’t broken through everything else that was piled on him yet. Bull would absolutely not be bringing that up tonight. Maybe he’d ask Sera to help. She’d no doubt smack him for talking to her like she was an elf, but maybe it was better coming from her. 

Iron Bull wondered who other than himself had seen where things weren’t sitting quite right, under that veneer that looked just like Gethrael normally did and acted damn close too. A little more professional, a little less predisposed to self-indulgent shitty jokes and unintentionally smug smiles, but that was easily excused by the circumstances of such a high profile political event. Maybe Leliana - she’d always been good at that, and other observational skills Bull admired - even though she’d been away two full years now. Maybe Sera, smarter than anyone knew and Gethrael’s shadow, always there to help him up when he couldn’t admit he needed it. Maybe even Varric, who’d started out the day visibly worried about the inquisitor and became more so seeing the look on his face when he’d found out about Dorian. 

Bull was the only one who knew exactly what to do about it. The room in the winter palace the inquisitor was given was excessive - thanks to Briala, no doubt. The funny thing was how much more comfortable Gethrael would be sleeping on the floor than on the huge four poster bed. The important thing was that it was private.

“Take everything off,” The Qunari said, in a voice that couldn’t be argued with. They weren’t going to speak even one word about what had happened at the council, about Dorian, or about the Qunari. Not yet. The inquisitor obeyed immediately, working on the fastenings of his red velvet jacket. “Your watchword?” Bull added, knowing that Gethrael knew it. He needed formal confirmation that the elf could stop him if he needed to, though that was never the case. 

The belt and sash fell to the ground, shortly followed by the jacket. “Katoh,” Gethrael said quietly. 

Sometimes, Bull wanted him to ask for what he needed - pain, restraint, something else entirely - but this wasn’t the time to make him speak. Not only had he proved himself capable of enjoying a wide range of things and incredibly resilient, but Bull usually found it obvious. His skill at reading people made him excel in this role and he was well aware of that. “Position three,” he said as the inquisitor tossed aside the rest of his clothes. Gethrael dropped to his knees quickly enough to leave pretty bruises on them later, then stretched forwards like a cat, ass in the air. He didn’t need restraints to hold him still; though that didn’t mean they weren’t fun. He was only too happy to stay where he was told. It had even been obvious to Dorian, who was apprehensive about this whole thing at first, how happy the elf was to submit. How much he needed this. 

“Looking good,” Bull said appreciatively, trailing his knuckle down the indent of Gethrael’s spine. He placed his palm mid-back, right at the curve of the inquisitor’s body. He could feel the tightness there, and couldn’t resist briefly pressing down. There was a satisfying crack, and the elf sighed against his forearms. There was no point in being in the wrong kind of pain - just distracted from the good stuff. 

As nice as that was, the sound of slapping him on the ass was far better, something that never failed to make Iron Bull’s cock stir. Gethrael didn’t whimper or yelp, he wouldn’t yet. That made it was all the more exciting when Bull took him to that point. Hearing him whine, head filled with nothing but anticipation for the next blow, was truly fulfilling. Bull gave him another smack, and the force jolted his body. The Qunari groped him roughly, feeling the heat of his dark skin. It was a tease, mostly, something to get him warmed up. Even the best submissive couldn’t - and shouldn’t - take constant punishment right away. A few more strikes had lovely red splotches blooming on his hips and ass, and his breath coming a lot quicker. Still, it was easy for Bull to see that he was ready for more; a certain way he shifted his body that gave away how eager he was. 

“Don’t move,” Bull said firmly. He surely didn’t need to, Gethrael was incredibly obedient. The obedient ones liked commands to follow, though. Leaving him on the floor, Bull stood and took his time crossing the room to his bag, retrieving the toy he wanted and a vial of oil. He could imagine Dorian’s reaction seeing what he’d bothered packing to come to the Winter Palace, but the mage was pretty foolish for someone who was so smart. It was obvious their inquisitor would desperately need submission after something like the Exalted Council. A few toys and tools were the first things Iron Bull had packed. 

He knelt next to Gethrael, who had not moved. There was the smallest tremor in his arms, and he was, predictably, rock hard. He got another smack on the ass with absolutely no preamble, and that earned a choked little gasp. 

Bull was really looking forwards to fucking him. 

The toy was polished wood carved into a thick plug, something that gave a little extra kick to spanking. It was also extremely practical for getting this small body ready to take the Qunari, especially when Gethrael was in his deep submissive place and not very patient. Bull coated it in oil, and unavoidably most of his hand; but that was just fine. He pressed his slick thumb against the elf’s hole, which he immediately felt twitch. Damn, the inquisitor really did have an insatiable hunger for sex. 

“Relax,” Bull made it an order, and rubbed a few teasing little circles. This toy was certainly not new, but Gethrael may not be expecting it - and when you were as big as The Iron Bull, you took no chances with penetration and did not rush anything or skimp on the oil. There was no sound from Geth, but he settled his weight back just the slightest bit. When he exhaled, Bull pressed the toy against him. Since it was tapered, the trick was to push nice and slowly but not let up. Right away the cadence of the elf’s breathing changed, each inhale a sharp little gasp. His head was pillowed on his arms, hiding his face, but where his nails were digging into his bicep was clearly visible. His fingers were flexing, but he wasn’t making a tight fist; and the tendons weren’t standing out on the back of his hand. 

“Mmh...” Gethrael grunted as he reached the widest part of the toy, and Bull paused for just a second to let him adjust. The moment he saw the lines of tension leave the inquisitor’s shoulders, he gave one last push. When the toy popped in, Geth made a guttural whining sound that Bull didn’t think he could ever hear enough of. It was one of the many little reactions he had that never failed to get the Qunari really hot - like how he curled his toes when he was getting fucked, or maybe most of all; how his eyes rolled back to show the whites when Bull slammed into him balls deep. 

It turned out that Gethrael liked pain quite a lot, and the amount he could take never ceased to amaze. Especially for someone so small. Bull started up a rhythm with his strikes that was nothing short of punishing, and before long he had the inquisitor jolting with each hit. Gasps became choked ‘ha!’s, and finally little cries. It went without saying that Bull had to keep tight control over his strength with this kind of thing, but both of them enjoyed it when Gethrael was bruised black and blue in the morning. Bull’s hand was big enough to smack both cheeks at once, jostling the base of the plug between them, but he was careful to vary where the heel of his hand landed. It was all about gradually building the intensity, not so much to pull Geth out of it and enough to keep his mind from wandering. Not everyone could walk that line, and it was a skill Bull took great pride in. 

The elf’s slim chest was heaving, his thighs trembling with the effort of holding himself in position. Surveying his work, the Qunari gave Gethrael’s bruised ass another rough squeeze, making him flinch. The inquisitor gave a helpless groan. 

Beautiful. 

Bull took him by the shoulder, knowing he wouldn’t be able to pull himself upright unassisted. “Position one,” Bull’s voice was gentle but firm. Geth dropped dizzily back onto his haunches as he was guided upright. He whimpered, either due to the toy moving inside him or putting pressure on his sore ass. 

It wasn’t until then that Bull saw his face - and his forearms, where he’d been resting his head - were wet and sticky with tears, and any hairs that had slipped loose were plastered to his cheeks. Bull felt his heart in his throat. “Kadan,” He said softly, brushing his fingers against the inquisitor’s face. He wouldn’t normally break from his persona during one of these encounters, especially not when he knew he could see the tells that he needed to ease off. But Geth had only ever cried afterwards, in the safe place that Bull made for him. During he was always smiling, even giddy. “Do you need me to stop?” The elf had never used his watchword, any time they’d done this, and maybe he’d been scared to use it now. Everything about him had been indicating that he was good, but his eyes were puffy like he’d been crying the whole damn time. 

Gethrael shook his head immediately, the movement making him visibly unsteady. He was deeply dazed, which was perfect; and yes some people cried. Not Geth. Bull caught him by the chin, trying to meet his unfocused gaze. 

“You don’t have to do anything for me. You know that.”

He didn’t get an answer, the elf not even really meeting his eye properly. Bull looked him over, trying to find something wrong. He was still rock fucking hard, for one thing, his cock jutting up almost against his stomach and the tip purple-red and leaking. His hands were resting on his lap, completely relaxed, and while he was shaking it was the tremors Bull expected to see when he was in this state. 

“Hey. I know it’s hard, but I’ve gotta hear you speak.” The Qunari didn’t want to pull him out of this when he needed the relief so badly, but he couldn’t risk harming him. “You need to stop?”

Gethrael blinked at him, a few more tears silently escaping. Bull held him by the chin, hoping to get through to him. If he couldn’t, there was no choice but to start pulling him out of it. And hoping the damage wasn’t too bad. Fuck, this was so much worse than Bull had thought. 

“... no,” the inquisitor muttered, as though he was lost somewhere in a fog a long ways away. “Please.” He squeezed his eyes shut, and a flood of tears rushed out. When he opened his mouth his lower lip quivered. “M’alright.”

Bull took his face in both hands, as gently as though he were holding a baby bird. He wouldn’t let Gethrael look away from him, and examined the depths of his eyes for anything that indicated he wasn’t being honest. He just looked vulnerable and deeply, desperately needy. The Qunari pressed a kiss to his forehead, and backed away. Very well. He’d give the inquisitor what he needed. 

“Don’t move,” Bull said as before, taking the leather loop he’d brought over when he’d retrieved the toy. With a delicacy no one ever seemed to expect of him, he slipped it over the elf’s cock without really touching him at all and cinched it tight. 

“Ah,” Gethrael shivered, his hands twitching slightly in his lap, but he obediently stayed still. If there was anything that could stop him from thinking, it was keeping him sexually frustrated. There were inherit risks there without Dorian around, but it would be worth it. Bull ran the pad of his thumb across the swollen tip of Geth’s cock, and couldn’t help but smile at the whine he earned. He was more than capable of taking a few shocks when the mage inevitably lost control. 

“I’m going to take you,” Iron Bull said in a low, possessive growl; and if he’d gotten any less hard while he was checking on Gethrael, how emphatically the elf was nodding to that statement made up for it. Bull put a hand on his shoulder blades, ready to help him lie back. “Position six.”

“Nh,” Gethrael flinched as he clumsily got his feet out from under himself. The Qunari had planned on getting him back on all fours, which would’ve been easier for him to do from kneeling and allowed for a really hard fuck, but now it seemed much more important to see his face. Geth let both hands fall heavily over his head, wrists together - not that there was any reason to hold him down when he was like this. Tears still silently ran down his face, but his expression was actually pretty serene, and his body was completely relaxed. His eyes drifted closed as Bull stood to take off his trousers. 

Iron Bull got down between his spread knees, grasping the base of the wooden plug. “Deep breath,” he watched that slender chest swell with air, enough to make the inquisitor’s back arch a little bit off of the stone floor. As soon as he started his exhale, the Qunari pulled the toy out of him with a pop. The throaty groan he made was incredibly needy, and Bull watched his swollen cock twitch against him. 

Alright.

Bull grabbed him by the hips, stroking the pads of his thumbs along the elf’s hipbones. His asscheeks fit almost perfectly in each of Bull’s hands, and he gave the sore flesh a little squeeze before dragging him effortlessly closer. Gethrael stayed limp, but he did open his eyes again when he felt Bull’s cock against him. Still crying. 

“Look at me,” the Qunari grunted as he liberally slicked himself with more oil. Geth glanced down at him with wet eyes, then slammed them shut with a helpless moan as soon as Bull started to press in. “Keep looking at me,” he had to say it through gritted teeth, and maybe that made it sound like a snarl, but the inquisitor certainly listened to him. Getting into that tight little body was... well, it was amazing, but it was definitely a challenge to focus on anything else while doing it. Even in his dazed state, Gethrael was noisy; stopping to gasp for breath between full-throated moans and cries. Every time his eyes threatened to flutter shut he snapped them open again with no need for correction, impressively obedient. 

It felt like an eternity until Bull was fully sheathed inside of him, panting like he’d just run a mile himself. It always felt damn good, especially looking down at him and seeing how it affected him, brows drawn together to make that little crease in the middle, lips parted. He was so beautiful when he was overwhelmed, even more than he usually was, and Bull leaned over him and took his wrists in one hand. He didn’t need to be held down, but the response was immediate. Geth arched against him with a sound like a purr, his eyes smiling that way they did, even as they flooded with tears. 

That got rid of any reservations The Iron Bull still had. Even his cursory slow thrusts had Gethrael crying out breathlessly under him. It was too bad that he couldn’t take him on his knees like he’d planned, make him feel the bruises forming on his ass with every stroke, but watching his eyes roll back as he struggled to obey and keep them focused was a special treat. Bull started pounding into him, staying quiet and enjoying Geth’s moans and whines. Hopefully these walls were thick. His cock must really be hurting now, being filled and fucked and like this with the loop around it. His voice sounded ragged with desperation, every stroke dragging sounds out of him, and Bull watched his face contort and wondered if he could manage to get off before he had to end the elf’s torment. Just to frustrate him. It was a very Dorian thought, and maybe a little too mean to effectively get him out of his head. Bull was a lot more interested in catering to his partners in general, and the inquisitor especially. 

Gethrael gave a high-pitched squeal, bucking up against Bull with surprising strength; and the Qunari only had enough time to realize his body was trying to climax before there was an angry snap of electricity and the hand holding the elf’s wrists went numb. 

“Ha! Shit,” Bull gave him a bemused grin, shaking his hand out and watching a bright blue bolt arc from Geth’s balled fists to dance at his throat and jump again to his belly. Dorian could control this, all Bull could do was get hit by it. He reached down between them, bracing for the nip of the shock - good thing he didn’t mind a little pain with his pleasure himself, ha ha - and slipped the leather loop open. He grabbed the inquisitor’s waist, holding him still and snapping his hips one more time. 

Gethrael cried out like he’d been stabbed in the gut, another fork of electricity jumping out of his solar plexus and thankfully striking the floor behind him as his body seized for just long enough that Bull got a little worried. Bull’s hands were both all in pins and needles where he gripped that slim waist, but he couldn’t help but smile to himself again when he saw that Geth had shot cum halfway up his ribs. 

The elf’s head lolled back on the floor, his eyelids fluttering. “Look at me,” Bull repeated, a little more gently this time, and rocked just enough to move inside of him. Gethrael often really liked to be overstimulated, but Bull had a feeling he was already at his limit. Sure enough, he made a choked noise and went stiff. He still managed to look at Bull despite clearly being somewhere else, and the Qunari stroked back the hair that was stuck to his face with a heavy hand. “Stay still.”

Bull slowly pulled out of him, seeing the discomfort pinch his face. He didn’t move, but he was panting by the time they were separated. So was Bull, though it was for very different reasons. Though it seemed pathetic to some that he’d finish himself off, Bull did not agree. Tonight was about the inquisitor; and the feeling of dominating him and providing his catharsis was way better than just getting to pop one off. It did seem to bother Geth sometimes that he didn’t get to help, but when he was this out of it what did he think he could do? It only took Bull a few quick strokes to climax; he was pretty close already. Then he could get to looking after Gethrael, which he was a lot more worried about. 

He wiped them both off, then carefully scooped the elf into his arms and brought him over to the bed. He hardly got any reaction at all, which was a little bit concerning, but he crossed the room to get a cup of water and dampen a cloth from the pitcher on the vanity table. When he got back to the bed, Gethrael was looking at him with his dark eyes. 

“You don’t have to talk,” Bull sat down beside him, gently dabbing at his hot sticky cheeks with the cool towel. “Just you and me, right now. You know.” 

He didn’t really expect a response, and he didn’t receive one. After a few minutes, the inquisitor pushed himself up with difficulty and crawled into Iron Bull’s lap - or tried to, he needed a little help to get settled comfortably. Once there, he buried his face against Bull’s neck and draped his arms over his shoulders. Bull held him, a protective hand on the back of his neck, and stayed alert for any trembling that might mean he was crying again. Didn’t feel any. 

“You should drink something. You cry any more, you’ll make yourself sick,” Bull teased, hoping that would land. Normally he was confident it would, but Geth’s reactions weren’t really his usual right now. Worth it, if he got a smile. 

And he did. The elf sat up to look at him, eyes still puffy, and gave him a sincere attempt at one of his usual smiles. It was much better than earlier, and Bull had to kiss him. Gethrael immediately melted into it, flourishing under the affection. When they broke apart, his smile was wider; actually giving his eyes a little sparkle. Iron Bull couldn’t think of anything that’d ever made him feel better. 

“I’m sorry,” the inquisitor said quietly. “I’m so sorry about that.”

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Bull grunted. “Not to me. You had to let it out - that’s what I’m here for.” 

For a moment Gethrael just looked contented. He was pressed as close as he could physically be, and that was fine. If he needed the validation of physical contact, Bull was happy to give it to him; especially after watching a Qunari elite warrior slam him into the ground with a single blow. Bull would’ve never thought that would bother him specifically, not when he’d seen Gethrael take hits from so many things. Something about watching Qunari bear down on him, shouting to each other about killing the saarebas... Iron Bull hadn’t been prepared for it, and it made him feel a little sick. He could admit to himself that it did him good too, right now; holding the elf in his arms and knowing he was whole and safe. 

“If anyone ever tries to tell you that you aren’t a good man, Bull,” Geth said finally, his voice playful but with that undertone of deadly seriousness. “They’ll have me to deal with. Though, that’s soon to be... not so much of a threat.” His brows drew together with that dreaded concerned look, and Bull gave him a tight squeeze. 

“Hey. No inquisition in here.”

“No inquisition anywhere, soon,” Gethrael said, trying to play it off as a joke. His sadness was clear in his eyes, though, and instead of trying to distract him, Bull stayed quiet in case he did want to talk. It seemed he did, because he continued after a silent moment with his head nestled on the Qunari’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can go back to clan Lavellan.”

“Don’t think they’d wanna see you?” Bull said, knowing already that wasn’t what he meant. 

“I’ve spent too much time outside,” Gethrael said sadly. “Even without everything else, without the mark; without you, and Dorian,” he sighed and let his eyes fall closed. “Part of me always knew it, but facing it is... different.”

“It would’ve been the same for me, if I could go back to the Qun,” Bull said, hesitating for a long moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d compared their situations in his mind, but speaking it aloud made it real. “Still not the same as being declared tal-vashoth. But I would have been treated different back home - and yeah, I knew that too.” He felt that hole in his chest again, thinking of Gethrael like himself. It wasn’t a feeling he wished on anyone, but the inquisitor least of all. He had enough weight on him, he didn’t need to be lost as well. 

“It’s real, now,” Geth said, staring unseeingly across the room with his head still on Bull’s shoulder. “... I never would have compared us. My people won’t try to kill me. They’d even welcome me.” His tone was acrid with guilt. 

“You can still hurt, Kadan,” Bull said, stroking his cheek with a thumb. He could tell clearly as anything, though, that nothing he said right now would do much but make the elf feel more deeply guilty. He also sensed he was right that all the stuff about the Evanuris hadn’t sunken in, but if this conversation kept going, it might. Instead, he came back to what Geth had said before. “Not allowed to take lovers outside your clan, eh?”

“Oh - no, not that. Outsiders just aren’t really welcome to come and live with the clan, even if they wed one of us,” the inquisitor said. “It’s the most common reason younger elves end up leaving. Our options for marriage are limited to only the few from neighbouring clans that are a similar age.” He finally glanced up at Bull again, and though his eyes still looked sad, he smiled. “Like I said, I... I’ve known a long time now that I wasn’t going back.”

“You’ll always be welcome with the Chargers,” Iron Bull said, and he hoped he’d get taken up on that. Nothing sounded better than wandering the countryside with his kadan and his men; though he wouldn’t say no to Dorian tagging along too if that wasn’t so out of the question. “It’s not glamorous, but we both know that crap isn’t for you anyways.”

“I suppose I’d be much more comfortable than in Tevinter,” Geth said it like a joke, or tried to, but there was a wet shine to his eyes again. Damn. 

“Hey. It’s not that he wants to leave you,” Bull said, calculating how he’d skirt the issue of how worried Dorian was for the inquisitor’s safety. He had the distinct feeling that was going to drag Gethrael headfirst into anger, and a genuine confrontation between these two was likely to have dire consequences right now. “He’s just -“

Geth cut him off with a frustrated groan. “I don’t need Dorian explained to me, Bull,” he said, a lot more sharply than expected. He usually only interrupted and got snippy like that when he was trying to hide pain or panic, and the Qunari really hoped he was feeling better than that, at least for the time being. “He was always... very up front with me, about our time being limited. Maybe I should’ve listened. I suppose I hoped things had... changed.”

“I think they have.” 

When the inquisitor stayed in sullen silence, Bull moved his hand to give that sore ass another little squeeze. He loved the soft gasp he got. “You know what?” Bull said, making himself sound cheerful because obviously the serious conversation needed to be over. “I vote we wait a few months and go harass him in Tevinter. Just let him miss us first.” And if Dorian really thought Bull wasn’t enough to protect Gethrael, he could shove that up his ass. 

Seeing the inquisitor - no, just Gethrael Lavellan now - standing alone at the railing again, but diminished; made Bull ache. At least he was alive, and that was more than the Qunari had expected a few hours ago. Maybe, finally, he’d have a chance to rest. Bull watched him for a moment, trying to judge if he should go to him. He honestly looked like he needed a few moments to himself, but he’d just lost his damn arm and how he was still on his feet was a mystery. No doubt this was the most resilient and determined elf around, Bull thought proudly. He was about to settle on going to do a quick close-up check when he saw Dorian go over. 

As much as they needed to talk in private, the state Dorian had been in at the Crossroads was not something Geth should be handling just now. Bull went to the elf’s other side as quickly as he could. 

“- I could kill you for what you’ve done to me, amatus,” Dorian was saying, his voice all affection and wavering already. It was much better than the crap he’d been saying while Bull and Cassandra were dragging the delirious, half-conscious elf back to the Winter Palace, but it was still unbelievable he thought this was the time. 

“You almost didn’t have to,” Gethrael said, his voice a lot weaker than it had been a few moments ago. Whatever Red had done to him was wearing off, there was an ashy pallor to his dark skin. Bull was about to make a comment that he looked like needed to lie down when Geth actually stumbled and sagged against him. “... I don’t feel well,” he muttered, putting a hand to his head. 

“Are you alright?” Dorian sounded panicked, maybe moreso than he realized, and grabbed the elf’s shoulder. Bull gritted his teeth to stop himself snapping at the mage. 

“He isn’t. He’s about to pass out,” Iron Bull said pointedly, and crouched down with the elf to hopefully get some blood back to his head. He levelled Dorian with a stern look that he hoped would shut him up. “Kadan,” he said, much more gently, “you need rest. Tell me when you can stand.” Gethrael was visibly nauseous, though Bull wasn’t even sure if anything would come up. He couldn’t think of when Geth had eaten anything in the past few days. 

Dorian was visibly frazzled, moving to touch and then seeming to think better of it; opening his mouth and then looking at Bull and closing it again without speaking. He looked like shit, too. Of course he’d cleaned himself up and changed out of his bloody armour and into his nice clothes, but they’d gotten the crap beat out of them and it showed. Or at least it did to Bull. Dorian had raised himself up so many times it wasn’t surprising he looked like a ghost. 

“You wanna meet us at his room?” Bull asked, wanting to get both of them out of the public eye as soon as possible. What a fucking disaster. 

“I can walk,” Gethrael’s voice was stronger, more normal, but the Qunari wasn’t fooled. The dark eyes that looked up at him were glassy, and there was a tension in his body that said he was in pain. 

Dorian gingerly touched the elf’s side, as though hearing him speak had snapped him back to reality. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, dearest.”

“Glad to hear it,” Gethrael said mildly as Bull pulled him back up. That was really worrying - Iron Bull had never heard him respond to Dorian like that. These two were always making snarky little comments back and forth to each other, voices teasing but full of adoration. It was pretty hard to get them to stop it, actually. He glanced over at Dorian to see if he’d noticed, but he wasn’t acting himself either, and seemed wildly distracted. Maybe that was for the best. 

Seemed like the inquisitor - not the inquisitor - could actually walk fine after his little dizzy spell, but Bull stayed right on him so he could grab him in a second if he needed it. A few times he started listing out of walking in a straight line, but Bull wordlessly corrected him with a hand to the small of his back. When they reached the door of his room, he looked momentarily confused about how to reach the key on his belt. The Qunari put an arm around his waist and opened his pouch to retrieve it for him, ignoring the ache in his own chest as he watched Geth raise his one remaining hand and stare at it woodenly. 

“I really don’t have an arm now, do I?” He said it in his usual jovial tone, and that made it so much worse. Bull heard Dorian make an audible choking sound behind them. 

“Yeah,” Iron Bull said as he opened the door. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Geth, but he tried to joke back at him. “But you don’t have a glowing hand that tries to kill you, either.” 

“What the devil did she give him?” Dorian hissed, his fingers catching the back of Bull’s belt as they followed the elf inside. 

“I don’t know any more than you do,” the Qunari said in a dark voice that he hoped indicated how much he disapproved. 

Gethrael sat down heavily in the middle of the floor, staring off into nothing. “Okay, boss, not quite,” Bull shook off Dorian and scooped Geth up with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m not your boss at all now.”

Geth needed to sleep soon, or Bull was going to be the one getting emotional; and then who was left to handle these two? “... Dorian, help him with his clothes,” he said, setting the elf down on the bed. He moved away to sit on the end of it, facing away and quietly collecting himself; half-listening to Dorian’s cooing and the (not) inquisitor’s responses, which ranged from almost normal to almost nonsense. Bull wondered how much of this was whatever they’d done to perk him up and how much was the shock he’d seen in many soldiers who were wounded or dying. In the Qun it got you sent to the re-educators, if you lived. He told himself it didn’t matter, Gethrael could get past it either way. Like he’d told Dorian before; their inquisitor always bounced back. 

Unsurprisingly, he fell asleep quickly - after telling Dorian in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want him to leave, several times. Bull watched the elf intently, trying to triage his condition. He also needed an excuse to ignore how much Dorian looked like he was going to cry again. Bull had the distinct feeling that he was self-aware enough by now that he was likely to get defensive and pick a fight if he was so much as looked at with something like pity. 

“Is he okay?” Bull grunted, tilting his head towards Gethrael’s tiny body, almost invisible in the blankets. 

“How should I know?” Dorian was trying to sound indignant, but all Bull could hear was the tremble in his voice. 

“Magic.”

“I’m a necromancer! Maker’s mercy, what do you expect of me?”

“I meant the Elvhen magic that bastard used to take his arm off,” Bull said dryly. All he knew was he hadn’t seen much blood at the Crossroads. 

“Oh,” Dorian deflated, looking even more tired and used up than he had before. “It... sealed the wound, but there is an awful lot of trauma. I mean, obviously, there would be.” He paused, also looking down at Gethrael. “Some of it - well, I’m not sure, he wouldn’t let me look at his hand once it got bad - but some of it could be from the anchor before he lost it.” He had a look on his face like he’d been forced to swallow something that disgusted him. 

“We need to call someone? A healer?”

“Let’s not disturb him,” the mage gently stroked a lock of platinum blonde hair from Geth’s face. He didn’t stir at all. “I don’t know that a healer can do much for him. Or if anyone can.” 

They sat in silence for a bit; Dorian toying with the elf’s hair with a wounded expression and Bull silently watching them. 

“You look like shit,” he said finally, making no effort at all to sound kind. 

“Excuse me?” There, that was the Dorian he knew. All indignant. 

“Took a lot of hits today,” Bull chose not to bring up how he’d exhausted himself; feeling emotion in a way he clearly hadn’t in many years. “Get in bed with him.”

“I cannot believe he’s still alive,” Cassandra said. She really only had one tone to speak of, but her emotion was nakedly obvious in her voice. Bull was happy to have her there. Beyond her skill and strength in battle, she had an incredibly clear head in difficult situations - and if it weren’t for the day on the cliffs where he’d faced losing Krem and the rest of his men, this would be a real winner for tough spots. “He is surely blessed by Andraste, Herald or no.”

Bull looked down at the elf in his arms, feeling an overwhelming need to reassure himself that Gethrael was, in fact, still alive. He was completely limp, beaten bloody, an empty space where his left arm had been. He would look dead if it weren’t for his eyes fluttering open and closed again, and how he occasionally tried to lift his head or mutter something to himself. “Maybe more cursed,” Bull grunted. “Tell me which way.” All these fucking mirrors looked the same to him. 

“That one,” she was limping heavily, her armor dented so badly on one side there was no way she didn’t have cracked ribs. There was so much blood on her mouth she’d either lost a tooth or bitten through her lip, but she wasn’t complaining or even slowing down. Bull would throw her a compliment if the circumstances were different. 

Behind them, Dorian was openly weeping. Cassandra periodically looked at him like he was some dangerous animal she didn’t understand, and then to Bull like he could do something about it. He’d like to know when he was supposed to find time for that while he was focusing on getting help for the inquisitor as fast as possible; but he’d more or less already decided the best thing to do for Dorian was immediately forgetting he’d acted like this. He might not even be able to admit to himself that it happened. 

It seemed like ages before they went stumbling through the last eluvian and ended up in the room at the Winter Palace. There was a lot of commotion: Cassandra yelling for a healer, an actual expression of shock on Leliana’s face. Bull ignored it all and set Gethrael down as gently as he could, cupping his cheek as his head lolled to the side. He tried to catch the elf’s eyes, see if there was any alertness or recognition in them, but when they were open they were completely unfocused. Shit. Bull had to believe that Geth would be alright, but he knew for sure there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. He caught only snatches of what they were saying - Solas, council, Solas, Qunari, anchor. He honestly didn’t give a shit about any of it right now. 

When he turned, the room was a tableau. The inquisition soldiers had scattered. Cassandra was panting for breath, shoulders squared like she was about to take someone down. Dorian had collapsed on a crate, elbows on his knees and head in his hands, shaking. Red stood in the middle of them in her ridiculous chantry getup, looking past him at Gethrael with eyes that were still slightly wide in a face that was otherwise already back to complete serenity. 

“We must get the inquisitor back to the Exalted Council immediately,” she said.

Bull’s growl of, “You’re kidding,” came at the same time as Cassandra’s furious, “Absolutely not,” and the Qunari decided to let her field this one. He stayed kneeling between Gethrael and everything else in the room, making it clear no one was getting close unless he let them. He wasn’t planning on moving for anyone but a healer. 

“Look at him,” Cassandra’s voice was ragged, and she gesticulated wildly with her sword arm. “You cannot seriously expect this!”

Leliana didn’t rise to her, of course she didn’t. She was completely calm, something Bull admired even now. “If the inquisitor doesn’t attend to the council, we will have a war on our hands,” she said with unarguable firmness. 

“You are going to kill him,” Cassandra was bearing her teeth. 

Bull absolutely agreed with her. “Let them fight, then.”

“He can end it now,” Leliana continued, looking between them, “but it must be him - Cassandra, you know it’s true.”

The Seeker snarled with frustration. “She is right, Iron Bull. Everything we worked for will be thrown away.”

“He can’t stand or speak any sense,” Bull said, and he knew he wasn’t really hiding that he was angry, “how is he going to address the council of assholes?”

“I’m sure we could procure some lyrium-“

“You will not,” Cassandra spat, limping another few steps to put herself between Bull and Leliana. “Under no circumstances will I allow that.”

Red sighed, and Bull saw her soften. “Yes, of course - that will not be necessary. There are other things, potions perhaps. We need him for less than an hour, even half may be sufficient.”

Iron Bull gave them a grunt that he could only hope told them how deeply unhappy he was about this. The worst part was how sure he was that if the inquisitor was able to weigh in on it himself, he wouldn’t even hesitate. As soon as he was told he needed to get up and go to the Exalted Council, he would do whatever it took. Even if he knew for certain it would kill him. 

“Iron Bull,” Cassandra dropped down heavily next to him, like she’d tried to take a knee but forgotten how badly she’d hurt her leg. She always looked him right in the eye, no fear, no contempt; and this was no different. “I will help to wake the inquisitor. Take Dorian out of here.”

“Oh, I think I’ll be staying with him,” Bull said, making it sound casual but giving Cassandra a look to tell her it was not up for debate. 

“You think it will do him any favours to see Dorian in that state?” She said, just as bluntly as ever. He hated how right she was. 

“Okay, Seeker. This one’s on your head.”

As much as Dorian had grumbled about getting into bed, he ended up knocked out before he could even fully undress. His arm was tucked around Gethrael’s waist and the elf had stirred just enough to bury himself deeper in the embrace. The stump of his arm, which it appeared the healer had wrapped in bandages, was free of the blankets and impossible to avoid looking at. Iron Bull made himself focus on how it was better than the anchor, how this way it wouldn’t inevitably kill him, that this was probably the best outcome. Bull had learned to live with one eye and be no less of a warrior, Geth could learn to live with one arm. Fortunately, he wasn’t a swordsman; after some time to adjust it probably wouldn’t effect him in combat at all. 

With both of the mages calm and still, for the first time Bull really started to feel the hits he’d taken that day. He knew it was bad, probably more than they should’ve survived. Yeah, he was going to be sore for a while, even out of commission. Good thing he hadn’t been planning on going out with the Chargers any time soon, not with Gethrael like this. Someone had to stick around for him. 

Exhaustion was creeping up on Iron Bull as well, but he kept resisting it, silently watching over Dorian and Geth. He knew as soon as he tried to sleep it would be hard to push out visions of fighting the Qunari. He’d fought them before, of course, and it wasn’t so different from fighting tal-vashoth in Seheron. Well... it was, but they’d seemed just as crazed and he’d had no choice. It was their single-minded determination to hurt Gethrael that ate at him, even the Viddisaltha still trying to order him to kill the inquisitor. It was a hard one to unpack, and there weren’t any re-educators out here. Now wasn’t the time, anyways. 

Finally he conceded that he’d have to sleep if he was going to be any use to these two when they woke up, and came around to the side of the bed. It was a good thing it was huge at least, room enough for the three of them just like in Skyhold. “Shove over, Vint,” he muttered to Dorian as he nudged his shoulder, not unkindly. 

“Mm?” Dorian didn’t really wake - which was a good thing - but co-operated with being shifted a few more inches and buried his face in Geth’s hair. If they were all getting in bed together, Bull usually encouraged one or both of them to lay against his shoulders; but at least this way he got to spread out a little more. 

It was also a good thing that, as a soldier, Iron Bull had his share of ways to not be lying awake long into the night. 

He was awoken seemingly seconds later by Sera pounding on the door. He knew it was Sera because she was also screaming insults. 

“As if you’re not going to answer me - what, you just get to leave and get your stupid ass killed and not let me say anything about it?” Her voice was shrill and cracking; she was almost definitely crying. “You absolute shit, let me in so I can-“

“You sapphic demon!” Dorian shouted back. He sounded like himself, but he looked badly hungover to put it kindly. His volume made Gethrael startle violently in his arms. “I would’ve liked to sleep for another six hours, thank you!”

“... what’s saffus mean,” she said in a tearful whine. “You’re not playing fair again, making up words...”

Bull rubbed his forehead, sighing heavily. In the corner of his eye he could see Gethrael getting visibly upset, and that raised his ire even more. “Dorian, deal with her,” he grunted in a tone that indicated if he had to do it, it wasn’t going to go well. 

“Yes, yes,” Dorian carefully climbed over Geth, sparing him a smile as he did. He went to the door still half dressed and slipped outside. Bull propped himself up on his elbow and shifted closer to the elf, the bed still warm from Dorian’s body. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, trailing his fingers across Gethrael’s bare thigh, where there were still dark bruises from their night together. They’d last a while yet. He didn’t want to immediately pull the elf into another embrace, but he needed to know that he wasn’t alone. Beyond the door, Sera could be heard ranting away, Dorian’s responses not really audible other than the tones of his voice.

“Did I... speak to the council yesterday?” Geth still looked a touch confused, but unquestionably more alert and present than before. 

“Yeah,” Bull watched the colour drain from his face. “Josie told us you did great,” he added, but the elf didn’t seem comforted. 

“Maker,” he whispered, combing his hand back through his hair to push it out of his face. “What did I say?”

“Told them no more inquisition,” Bull moved his hand to rest completely on the elf’s leg, stroking with his thumb. 

“... said he’d lock me in a broom closet if I shouted about it last night,” Sera was saying. 

“Rainier is a smart man,” was the first part of Dorian’s response. Then it sounded like he was trying to tease her into a better mood, but he was too quiet to hear. 

“Solas was - is - Fen’Harel,” Geth looked up at Bull, his eyes haunted, and seeing him that way made the Qunari feel profoundly tired and sore. Moreso than the wound, that expression made him look like a shell; and it was what made Bull worry that his kadan would never be the same after this. “The anchor and everything... it was his plan, and-“ his remaining hand started to tremble, and Bull caught it in his own to steady it. 

“Hey,” he said again, setting the elf’s hand down in his lap and touching his cheek instead. “Enough. Save that for Red. You don’t need to tell me all of it.”

Gethrael paused, and it looked like he had to physically swallow the words down. If he was going to get worked up over it, it could wait a few hours. He nodded, and he did let Bull look him in the eye. His gaze proved just how badly shaken he was. 

“You remember coming back here?” Iron Bull asked him, wanting to shift his focus. Sera’s voice could still be heard, and from the way it was muffled, Dorian might be hugging her. 

“... no,” Geth replied, narrowing his eyes in thought. “There isn’t much. Cassandra telling me I need to stand up... looking out over the water, then Dorian putting me in bed, here,” the expression he had was almost apologetic as he made eye contact again. “Your voice... I could feel you speaking. But that’s all.”

“I carried you,” Bull said, as way of explanation for the last part. He should’ve expected the little frown it put on the elf’s face, but he didn’t and it actually made him chuckle. “Don’t worry, almost no one saw. I think anyone who did was busy worrying about your arm.”

Gethrael didn’t see the humour, but that wasn’t surprising under the circumstances. He restlessly combed his hand through his hair again, holding it at the crown of his head. Bull was about to ask him if he was in pain because he’d frozen in place; but the realization of what it actually was seemed somehow much worse. “Could you... help me pull my hair back?” The elf asked with a sheepish resignation. 

Iron Bull thought the hole in his chest couldn’t get any bigger, but he felt himself physically buckle. Watching Geth braid up his hair in the morning, or in the plait for sleeping that seemed to take him only moments, was such a regular part of life with him. Fighting one-handed Bull had immediately considered, but of course he hadn’t thought of this. 

“Sorry, kadan,” he said heavily. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

“Lemme see him?” Came Sera’s hopeful voice, and Bull immediately gave Gethrael a look to tell him if he wasn’t ready for her, he could put a stop to it. 

“It’s alright,” Geth said quietly, at almost the same time Dorian responded, “As long as you stop threatening to kill him.”

“Can’t promise anything,” she grunted, but after a long silence in which it was easy to imagine Dorian’s disapproving look, she added, “alright, I’ll be nice!”

The elf sat upright in the bed as the door opened. Bull assumed he wanted to present with as much strength as he could, and put a hand on his lower back in case he needed steadying. It was a damn good thing he’d done it, because he barely saw Sera enter before she was a projectile launched at the bed and tackled Geth with a force that would have knocked him flat even if he wasn’t injured. 

“Sera!” Dorian chided. There was no way she heard him, because she was sobbing hysterically. 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she choked, burying her face in his shoulder. Her whole body shook violently with her sobs, and she was holding him so tightly that Bull could see her fingers digging into his skin. Gethrael was frozen in her arms, and the Qunari was about to pry her off when he lifted his remaining arm and hugged her back. “Don’t you do that to me again, you horse’s arse. Stupid, dumb idiot elf. Don’t you dare!”

Geth hugged her and patted her hair while she cried, and Dorian gave Bull an apologetic look over them. 

“You’re... my most important people to me,” Sera sat back for a moment, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Her face was almost as red as her tunic. “So don’t you... you’re not allowed running off and getting killed, okay? Or losing arms! Ugh!” She squeezed him tightly again, seemingly not bothered that he hadn’t said anything. She was probably used to ruling the conversation between them - in some ways she wasn’t so different from Dorian.

“Sera,” Geth finally said, his voice quiet, “Solas is Fen’Harel.”

Sera paused, her face screwing up in an amusing combination of confusion and disgust. She tilted her head, then leaned back, looking at Gethrael from arm’s length. Dorian mouthed, ‘Did you know?’ To Bull, who responded with a noncommittal shake of the head. He’d only heard a minute or two ago, he hadn’t really had the chance to think about it. 

There was a shriek of laughter, and Sera tumbled backwards off the bed. She kept laughing on the floor, clawing herself up on the side of the bed and hanging on as if for dear life. “Fenny!” She screamed, overcome again by the snickering giggle that Bull always associated with her. “Of course! Of-fucking-course, mister old elven stick up his ass, such a dusty prick! Of course he’s- he’s _the_ dusty prick, isn’t he! Ha!”

There was a moment where Bull thought they never should’ve let Sera come in, then he saw that Gethrael was... also laughing. He’d broken into a smile and his eyes lit up in a way that made the Qunari relax more than he’d realized he’d had to. That was the Geth they knew - he was still there. 

“The real original bastard,” Sera carried on, “it’s just right for him, innit? Forever a shithead. The elfiest elf ever, so elfy even the other elfy-elves all hate him!” She had a huge grin on her still-red face. “And you know you’re better at magic than him? You too, Dorian,” she tilted her head as far back as she could, almost upside down, to look at him. “Way better magey-persons. Stupid Fenny.” She leaned forwards on the bed again, resting her chin on it. “Wait! Wait, so he’s called the Dread Wolf, and he’s bald?” 

Dorian let out a ‘ha!’ at that, and Gethrael was shaking with laughter now.

“Hey, it’s a legit-mat question!” Sera said, then Bull watched as her gaze, sparkling with mischief, stopped on the stump of Geth’s left arm. Her eyes went wide and her expression flipped to blank fury. “... he did that!” It was not a question. She sprung to her feet. “Find him right now and make a pincushion out of his skinny ass, then shove my foot so far up it he thinks he’s a new pair of boots,” her mouth had twisted into a snarl. “Then I’ll rip his fucking head off!”

“Sera,” Iron Bull said firmly. She was quickly bringing him past the point of exhaustion, he couldn’t imagine Gethrael feeling much better. “Can it.”

“We all want to flay him alive, dear,” Dorian said, with forced joviality and a hard gaze that said he wasn’t joking at all. “He’s not available, so I suppose we have to save it for later.” The mage could be absolutely ruthless like no one else - Bull would be inclined to say that was the Tevinter in him - and in other circumstances it was a real turn on. 

The girl pouted and flopped down next to Geth again, twining her arms back around his waist like she couldn’t get over that he was still here. Bull could relate to that. 

“... I think this is the first time you haven’t complained about my being naked,” Gethrael teased. He couldn’t hold her back in his position, but he did lean his head against hers. She made a ‘pbbht’ noise when his long hair fell across her face. 

“My darling, who could ever complain about that?” Dorian said cheerfully as he started searching around for the rest of his clothes. 

“I mean, they both got their tits out,” Sera grumbled, “and that’s ‘sgusting, yeah. But I always gotta look at Bull’s tits, right? Can’t avoid ‘em.”

“What, too big for you?” 

“Too hairy,” she stuck the tip of her tongue out.

“You were perfectly fine with crying into these tits mere moments ago,” Dorian called from across the room. 

“You can shut it,” Sera called back, and then muttered, “be complaining about you having your cock out when I’m done complaining you almost died.”

“I’ll treasure it while it lasts,” Geth said, and Bull couldn’t help but smile seeing him act his regular self. 

“Hey, Sera,” Iron Bull said, wanting to catch everyone in a good mood. “Why don’t you do his hair for him?” 

“Come off it!” Sera said, sitting up straight.

“I... can’t exactly do it myself,” Gethrael lifted his one hand and wiggled it in front of her, keeping remarkably good humour. 

“Oh.” Sera frowned. “Well, you better not expect that fancy crap you can do - cut mine all off for a reason.”

Dorian returned to the bed, fully dressed and looking... alive, at least. He handed her Geth’s comb and sat near the foot of the bed. To Bull’s eye he still looked a little vacant and lost, but he was pulling it together okay.

For a few moments, even Sera was quiet as she muddled through combing Gethrael’s hair. Bull savoured it while it lasted. 

“What does saffus mean,” Sera said, frowning when Dorian snorted. 

“ _Sapphic_ ,” he enunciated, “describes a lady who is also a great appreciator of fine female anatomy.”

She perked up immediately, a huge grin splitting her face. “Yeah! I’m sapphic, alright!” She snort-laughed at herself, then started separating sections of Geth’s white-blonde hair with intense concentration. “Braids are so elfy,” she muttered. 

“I am; in fact, an elf,” Gethrael joked, “funny how that works.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Elfy-elf. Guess you’re allowed.” 

“Does it hurt, amatus?” Dorian said, and whether he knew it or not, his worry was clear in his voice. Bull sighed, wishing the mage had the sense to shut up and let Geth forget about it for a moment or two. 

“Some,” Gethrael said, and as always he sounded reluctant to admit he felt pain. “It was... much worse before he took it off.”

Iron Bull thought about it unbidden, something that had been pushed to the back by a long line of things that had been horrible about yesterday. Seeing Geth struggling to control the mark, staggering from the pain of it, watching him wreathed in its green glow and wondering if this was the time it would consume him... it was bad. What was maybe worse, worse even than seeing him tossed ten feet when he discharged the thing, was Dorian’s increasing panic. It made it much harder for Bull to ignore how he couldn’t protect his inquisitor - his kadan - from the one thing that was really going to kill him. Some bodyguard The Iron Bull was, after all. 

“It’s honestly a relief after that pain,” Gethrael said, giving Dorian a small, hopeful smile like he did when he when he was waiting out one of the mage’s upset rants. 

“That’s something, innit?” Sera said brightly. “That nasty mark thing was looking real horrid.” She didn’t know the half of it, Bull thought to himself. She was practically cross eyed trying to braid, but it was still better than he could’ve done. “Oh!” Sera exclaimed suddenly, slapping her leg in excitement. “Let’s put something really cool instead of your arm. Like a bow - nah, wouldn’t work right. A crossbow!” She cackled to herself. “Yeah, that’s proper awesome.”

“He is a mage, Sera,” Dorian said, which made her frown immediately. 

“Don’t know, sounds pretty cool to me,” Bull said, amused. “I’d have an axe for a hand.” The really important thing was that Geth was laughing and smiling. 

“Right? S’awesome,” Sera said proudly. She finished the braid and tied the little leather string into a bow at the bottom. It was... obvious Gethrael hadn’t done it, but it didn’t look terrible. 

“Hey, I’m starving,” Iron Bull said, sitting up. “I’ll bring you something to eat, kadan.” He said it casually, like he’d just thought of it. It was not a good lie, but the elf was pretty gullible. He’d make such a bad spy that it was almost unbelievable his people had sent him to the conclave with that job description. Then again, Bull was pretty sure that Dalish ‘spies’ were just whoever was willing to travel far from the clan. 

“I don’t think I’ll be eating. My stomach hurts.”

“It hurts because you’ve hardly eaten in days,” Bull dropped the casual tone immediately. Sera did a double take at how harsh he sounded, but Geth and Dorian were used to it - the former mostly because he liked it in the bedroom, and the latter because the Qunari had limited patience with his crap. Gethrael sighed and looked away, knowing there was no argument for that. 

Sera scrunched her nose. “Oh, but I have to be nice, do I? Course.”

“You want my advice?” Bull grunted. Dorian had been melancholy and preoccupied all day - it’d become increasingly obvious that he intended to talk to Gethrael about returning to Tevinter. Not that you needed to be Ben Hassarath to figure that one out. 

“I didn’t ask for any,” Dorian said, because he always said that. Bull ignored him. 

“Stop putting it off. You’ve been avoiding it all week.” It wasn’t a particularly easy week, either. Bull wasn’t the biggest fan of the Winter Palace to start with; and though it was good to see everyone again, watching them leave one by one for what would be the final time - at least as the inquisition - wasn’t great. Watching the toll it took on the former inquisitor was even worse, each goodbye another stone on the pile weighing Geth down.

There was a time where Dorian would’ve snapped back at him insisting he didn’t know what he was talking about; most likely with a drink in his other hand. It was good to know they were past that, if nothing else. “I’ll talk to him tonight.” He said after a moment’s hesitation. 

“Do it now.”

The mage narrowed his eyes, the ‘stop telling me what to do’, silent but clear. 

“It’s already evening. Enjoy the time you have left with him.” Bull’s tone was not gentle. You could not be gentle with Dorian at all if you wanted even a chance he’d hear what you were saying. 

He was silent for a long moment, and it really said something about how deeply bothered he was that he was this quiet. He’d expended his energy days ago and apparently never gotten it back, and Bull wondered how that effected his already highly limited - almost nonexistent - skills for coping with anything that gave him feelings at all. “I didn’t choose this, you know,” he said, suddenly and harshly. 

“Not the one who needs to hear that,” Bull said, equally brusque. He turned slightly, looking over to the bench where Sera and Gethrael sat. He was careful not to hover over the elf, but he always had some kind of sight line on him. “Kadan!” He called out, watching Geth immediately straighten up and look at him. Blatantly ignoring Dorian’s panicked look, he lifted a hand and crooked a finger. 

The former inquisitor was recovering incredibly fast, as usual. He was remarkable like that. If anyone asked, Iron Bull knew the elf would’ve insisted he was fine to travel; even if it had been the day after his injury. It was an unspoken decision by everyone involved to wait the week before they brought him back to Skyhold. Then where? That seemed impossibly far in the future at the moment, and Bull had never been that kind of guy.

He could see the shift in Gethrael’s balance; no doubt imperceptible to most, but the elf would definitely notice it when he tried to fight. Bull had picked up on the way the mages counterbalanced with their staves when they were swinging them around, and the small differences in Geth’s movements told him there would need to be a lot of practicing before it was safe to get him in combat again. That wasn’t going to go over well, but they weren’t there yet. 

“Dorian wants to talk to you,” Bull said cheerfully, in case the mage tried to back out. Even Gethrael would know something was up with an intro like that, but so be it. He shot Dorian a look that told him in no uncertain terms that he was going to deal with this, and leaned forwards to stand. To his surprise, the look he got in return said that Dorian desperately wanted him to stay. Alright, then. He settled back against the couch again, wondering what the thought was here. His best guess was that the mage needed the threat of his presence to keep this a serious conversation; but knowing this idiot, he might actually think Geth was going to get that upset with him. 

The elf’s expression said he knew what this was probably going to be about. To Bull it was blatant, but he might’ve actually hidden it well enough under a characteristic kind and receptive look that others wouldn’t notice. It was a look that Dorian should be very accustomed to - in the Qunari’s opinion, listening to Dorian talk was one of Geth’s most impressive talents. When he sat down next to Bull, he had a moment where he half-stumbled. It was slight, but Iron Bull saw it. He didn’t move to help, but he was ready to. 

“What is it?”

Dorian sat forwards on the couch, perching on the edge so he could be closer. “I won’t be coming back to Skyhold tomorrow, amatus.”

Gethrael’s lips thinned, and he nodded. He didn’t like hearing it, but he wasn’t surprised. “You told me a long time ago that one day we would need to-“

“No, no,” Dorian took his hand. “Don’t you dare apologize, you- you’re always making me lose my nerve, you know that?”

The rapid-fire shift of emotions was enough to have even Geth reeling, and when Dorian got to his feet because he couldn’t be still, he pulled the elf with him. “Are you alright?” He seemed a little at a loss for what to say, and Bull couldn’t blame him for choosing something that was always safe. 

“No, I don’t think I am,” he took Gethrael by the waist instead. For someone who talked so damn much, he could be incredibly physical when he was trying to express himself. “I didn’t intend this. I don’t _want_ to leave you.”

“... and you said I’d break your heart,” Geth said, and surely no one else could make those words seem sincere and sad instead of some cruel joke. 

“Come now, that’s hardly fair,” Dorian said, and tried to sound teasing, and tried to smile. It wasn’t great, and he gave it up pretty quickly. “Before I left Minrathous, I set my affairs in order and told them not to expect me back for a full quarter,” he said in a rush, “I was hoping for something nearer six months, but I knew it was likely too much to ask. It was to be a surprise for you, after the Exalted Council was over.” Geth broke into a genuine smile, which seemed to keep Dorian talking. “I even thought I might bring you back for a visit afterwards - Mae has been dying to meet you, you know, and I so wanted to show you the city - had you genuinely mentioned marriage, I might’ve,” he swallowed his words, a little too late. Shouldn’t’ve said that. He was making things harder. “Well. It’s just like my father to get in the way of my happiness one last time, isn’t it?” Tone was right, but the smile was decidedly sad. 

Gethrael raised both arms and awkwardly lowered the left one when only his right hand found Dorian’s shoulder. “I’ll come to Minrathous. I’ll come with you now.” He said, with the same conviction he’d come to use for everything. Bull took the opportunity to give the mage a hard look that said in that case, he would be coming along too; that he’d keep an eye on their inquisitor. 

Shit. Was really taking some getting used to, not thinking of him as ‘their inquisitor’. 

“Not now, amatus,” Dorian’s hands moved to his cheeks. This really was quite the day, Dorian being so tender in public. He rested his forehead against the elf’s, as though he couldn’t get close enough to him. “I’d love to have you, but this isn’t the time.”

Geth wanted to ask why - Bull could see it plainly on his face. He probably wouldn’t. It was equally clear that he was worried he’d push Dorian away for good if he didn’t keep it reined in. It was a reasonable thing to worry about, but the Qunari was almost sure this was the one time Gethrael could break down completely and not scare him off. “When will it be?” He said instead. 

“I will tell you the moment I know,” Dorian said, sounding almost completely like himself, now. As soon as he moved his hands, Geth’s gaze drifted down, and his own expression fell again. Nope, not quite that easy. “Come, now... the stone will be an improvement over letter writing.”

“I can imagine,” Geth was actually trying to flirt. Fuck, maybe it was that easy. That was going to give Dorian a very easy out, if he took it. If he didn’t, he must be even more distraught than Iron Bull had thought he was. 

“If you weren’t recovering, my darling, I’d give you a night to remember me by,” Dorian said in a low, suggestive voice that was, as usual, leagues more successful than Gethrael’s. 

The elf’s eyes lit up so immediately that Bull actually chuckled. “Dorian, I’m alright,” Geth said immediately. 

“Week’s quite a dry spell for him,” Bull added, still grinning. “Guess that’s plenty of recovery. Just be careful what position he’s in, can’t really hold himself up the same. Maybe stay on his back. Or in your lap.”

“Must you always be so lascivious in public?” Dorian was very hard to embarrass, but his gaze was darting around to see if anyone was close enough to hear. 

Bull threw up a hand in a shrug. “No one around.” He actually got up this time, because everything seemed good. “Hey, you guys know where I am if you need me.” His only goal had been to help them say a proper goodbye, and they seemed... capable of that, now. 

In the meantime, he was going to go ask Krem if he knew how to braid hair. It was possible, right?


End file.
